Chapter Text
"I've got it! The perfect solution! What do you think, Bubble?"
…
"Bubble?"
Caine, floating next to a massive chalkboard covered in scribbles and notes from the past hour of brainstorming, square in the middle of the tent, blinks at his assistant. His assistant, who is very clearly not paying attention to anything he's saying in favor of dozing off. Caine groans, temper flaring, and snaps, "Bubble!"
"AH! Wuh--" Bubble spins in place, startled by the sudden shout. "Present!"
Caine points at the board, chalk in hand making a sharp snap when it smacks against the surface. "We are trying to solve our problem with the humans! Don't you want to get to the bottom of this?"
Bubble smiles. "Oh yeah! Those guys." Then, smile faltering, he looks around the still-empty tent. "Where are they again?"
Caine nearly has an aneurysm then and there. "Wh-- Y-- Are you paying attention to anything right now?!"
"I'm paying attention to the things that bring me joy!"
"...Right." He rolls his eyes. For someone practically made to bounce ideas off of, Bubble can be impossible to get genuine feedback from. He'd probably have better luck talking to the Sun or Moon. Maybe a wall.
He wishes the humans were still around to give him something to work with, but for obvious reasons, he can't just summon them back here with a snap of his fingers. He can, technically, he just... doesn't think he should. Not until they've gotten everything out of their system and had enough of the exit. Er, macroverse. Whatever it is.
Until then, he has to figure this out himself. Which shouldn't be a problem!
Turning back to the chalkboard, his eyes flit from one idea to the next. Maintenance wrapped up pretty quickly, and he's used the rest of his time to think up potential solutions to the humans' dissatisfaction at the circus. Most of his ideas are already scratched out, mainly adventure concepts that he got far too excited coming up with before remembering, oh yeah! The humans will just reject those no matter what. No, he can't stick to the same old routine. He needs to turn to less direct methods.
Quality of life improvements, perhaps? Maybe the circus has simply lost its luster! A few additions could be just the thing to fix their behavioral issues and provide enrichment. Additions like....
"Oooh, a bouncy castle!" Bubble has wandered over to the board, eyeing a few of Caine's ideas. "That sounds fun."
"You think so?" He taps the chalk against his lower jaw, fretting. "I was worried it wouldn't be… you know. Mature enough for them."
"No self-respecting person could ever reject a bouncy castle."
Sound logic. Caine nods in approval, flying over to an empty spot on the board where all accepted ideas will go, quickly jotting it down. "I'll add it to the list!—"
"Not unless they were really mad at you."
Caine stiffens, the chalk screeching against the board— a diegetic record scratch. He looks over to Bubble warily, who is blissfully smiling at nothing in particular. Where on earth did that come from? It really rubs him the wrong way not being able to read Bubble clearly. Either he's really good at playing dumb, or he has no idea what he's saying. Caine chooses to believe the latter, giving his sidekick the benefit of the doubt. Shaking off the paranoia, he puts on a brilliant smile.
"Well, lucky for us, they're not!" He goes to finish writing but-- no, he can't, not with that letter looking so crooked. With a quick swipe of his glove, he tries again. This time, he gets it written out in perfect swooped lettering before Bubble says anything else.
"Are you sure?" The shark-toothed grin questions, hovering just a touch closer. Caine crosses his arms and regards the other, teeth narrowing into a wary glare, daring him to keep talking… but says nothing to refute him. So Bubble continues with a widening smile. "They didn't seem all that happy with you."
"You don't know what you're talking about." Caine focuses all his attention back to the board, hoping to come across as professional and focused on the task at hand and not desperate to put distance between him and the unusually antagonizing jabs. "They're just confused, is all! They've stuck to their guns for quite a bit, sure. A-and they say they don't want to be here, but. But I know they don't mean it."
A high-pitched giggle sounds behind him, ringing in his metaphorical ears, sharp and grating. "No you don't."
His grip on the chalk tightens.
"You don't know anything."
It's as if Bubble's scathing words were a physical strike with how viscerally Caine reacts. Glitches thrum and pulse through his code like a frantic heartbeat, quickening by the second. It's an overwhelming sensation that screams at him to fix the problem, to get rid of the source.
So he does. He pops Bubble without looking, putting a bit more force than necessary into the motion but not caring in the slightest as he tries to come down from the sudden onslaught of emotion.
Once he's gathered himself, Caine stares at the empty space Bubble once occupied, fists clenching and unclenching as he works through the anger until it seeps out of him completely. And, despite absolutely not wanting him to come back, Bubble's absence comes with a cost. It comes with a sudden awareness of just how empty it is in here. Just like that, in place of the anger comes panic. His programming suddenly works on overdrive to locate any functioning human life within the confines of the circus, predictably turning up empty-handed, but only further feeding into the fear.
No one is left. You are alone.
No one is left. You are alone.
No one is left. You are—
No, no, no! Stop that! Get it together!
He knows where the humans are. They're on an adventure!
He's not alone. He's not abandoned.
Not alone. Not abandoned.
Not alone. Not abandoned.
His miserable attempt at self-reassurance pales in comparison to the reality of the situation, but it's enough to prevent the spiral from worsening. He repeats it to himself, over and over, until he has no choice but to accept it as fact. The panic subsides. No longer a constricting, all-encompassing weight, but not entirely gone either. It's just… manageable. And that's the best he can ask for.
Now able to think more clearly, Caine thinks back on Bubble's sudden aggression and how jarring it was. It's not unusual for the odd little AI to be a nuisance, but that... that felt different. That felt intentional. And he should probably look into it before Bubble gets any bright ideas.
But-- whatever. Whatever. Caine doesn't have time for his nonsense. If Bubble feels like being such a negative nancy, he can do that somewhere else. Preferably away from him, far out of earshot. He has more important things to do than feed into whatever garbage spews out of that insane AI's mouth. Matter of fact, he shouldn't even trust his judgment on the bouncy castle! He scratches it out with one sharp swipe. Ha! Take that, Bubble! How does it feel to have your idea rejected for no good reason other than spite? Ha ha!
Ha.
...
He stares at the approved list of ideas. Only one item stares back, now scratched off. The chalk stick rolls between his fingers. It rolls up, down. Up, down.
What is he supposed to do? This is going absolutely nowhere. He no longer trusts his own judgment, seeing how his ideas have backfired stupendously time and time again. He definitely doesn't trust Bubble's judgment, seeing how Bubble is... Bubble.
Up, down. Up, down.
But what does that leave him? Just throwing things at the wall and seeing what sticks? He doesn't want to keep guessing! He doesn't want to put effort into something that might fall flat on its face and upset the humans even more. He needs to get this right. He needs to fix this. Because if he doesn't, then…
Up, down. Up—
Then what is there to do except admit defeat?
His hand clenches around the chalk. It shatters into white clumps that spill from his fist, distantly clattering onto the floor below: a mess he doesn't bother cleaning. The tent rumbles around him in discontent. And, yeah, that just about sums up his thoughts on the matter.
He can't quit. It's not an option. It will never be an option. So he has to figure this out. If his usual thought process isn't working, he'll think outside the box.
He needs input from the humans to understand what they want. Problem is, the humans are far too upset to communicate clearly to him, as evidenced by the group therapy session's poor performance. So he could, in theory, try to come up with something himself. But he can't risk making the wrong choice, which brings him right back to the issue that he needs that input somehow.
Is there some way to receive it discreetly? Without alerting the humans that he's probing them for the answers?
Deep in thought, he flips the chalkboard around, going from the chaotic scribbles of disconnected thoughts to a nice, clean slate. Just what he needs. He stares at the blank surface, snapping his fingers to summon the chalk from wherever it ended up on the floor and back in his hand, and he waits for inspiration to strike.
Which… proves very difficult. A solid minute of staring, and he's still drawing a blank. He's just about ready to throw in the towel, leave this alone and try again later. Or, maybe! Not try again at all!!
…Okay he doesn't mean that. But seriously. Why is this so hard? He's never had this much trouble coming up with ideas when the humans were around!
Wait. Maybe that's the problem.
Being completely isolated from the humans (don't think about it don't think about it) means he has nothing to be inspired by! Maybe taking a quick peek through those security cameras wouldn't hurt.
Caine summons a plain glass orb, reminiscent of a fortune teller's crystal ball. It hovers just over his shoulder, flickering to life and projecting the exit's security feed directly onto the chalkboard's surface. Once the initial static clears, he's greeted with the sight of a plain office room, the humans dotted all around the area.
The details are a little difficult to make out thanks to the camera's shoddy quality-- a small price to pay for the sake of immersive accuracy!-- but he can easily determine that most of them are asleep. Ragatha, Kinger, and Jax, namely. That's half of them unconscious… less than ideal. Not a lot of opportunity for gathering data.
Some of them are active, though! Pomni, Gangle, and Zooble are all gathered at a desk, shuffling around papers and speaking in what he assumes to be hushed voices. Hard to tell, without any audio coming through the feed. Oops.
It's an easy fix, only requiring a quick addition to the camera's functions to allow for picking up audio. With a soft pop crackling in the air as the microphone activates, Caine catches the tail-end of a conversation, just barely loud enough to be picked up by the cameras.
"--least he's not being a jerk right now."
Pomni's voice. Followed by Zooble.
"If you say so. But I'm not going easy on him if he decides to switch up on us. I'm really not in the mood for his [$%!@]."
A pit forms in his stomach. Are they talking about—?
"Yeah. With Jax, you never know. One moment he's perfectly normal, the next he's one wrong word away from blowing up."
Oh. Oh! It's just a discussion on the other humans. Phew. Honestly, he doesn't know why he was worried—
"Yyyup. Sounds like someone else we know. And you know just how much I love being around him."
"…Right."
"When we get out of here I'm punching him square in his stupid teeth, consequences be [$%!@]ed. Caine cannot keep getting away with these insane stunts."
…Well! That didn't take long.
"I just… wish we could figure out what his deal is."
Caine can tell he isn't getting much valuable data from this conversation. It's all speculation on his recent behavior and motivations, along with very blatant threats on Zooble's part, which tells him next to nothing about the humans themselves. Least of all Zooble; there's a catalog derived from his memory banks solely dedicated to the various… creative insults that they've directed towards him during their time in the circus. If it weren't so disheartening, he might be impressed by their sheer range of expression in their vocabulary. Point being, their threats and comments are something he's all too familiar with— even that one about punching his teeth in is recycled. He has that exact sentence, along with a few variations, cited to seven different instances.
He has no reason to continue listening. And yet, he floats a little closer. He doesn't look away from the screen for even a moment, tracking every minute movement that's picked up by the security feed's low resolution.
Gangle is being quiet, simply working on organizing papers in neat stacks and not engaging in the conversation. Zooble and Pomni are doing their part, but to a lesser degree. Zooble seems to pause right then, taking in Pomni's words, before getting right back to the repetitive task of punching holes in some paper.
"I don't know if there's anything to understand when it comes to Caine. At least, nothing we're capable of understanding. He doesn't think like us."
Something painful twinges in him. That… yeesh. That didn't feel good to hear. His hand instinctively goes to clutch his chest, fingers digging into the fabric as the hurt resonates.
Insults and general irritation with his existence aside, he thought he was getting somewhere with Zooble! They can be aggravating, sure. And stubborn, and critical, and seem to take issue with everything he does or says— but he thought they were starting to lighten up on him! There's no way they truly think that, right? That there's no substance to him?
It— it has to be their emotions talking. Hurt feelings left over from the escape adventure trying to lash out at an easy target.
"…I mean… I felt like we were getting somewhere earlier."
Pomni's voice breaks him out of his mental spiral. There's a sense of lightness in her voice, albeit cautious. Something akin to hope. It sparks curiosity in Caine, the hurt in his chest subsiding. This is unexpected.
"You think? I dunno. It felt like more of the same old routine. Caine pretends he cares, refuses to listen to our suggestions, and acts like he magically fixed the problem when, really, he's just pretending it doesn't exist anymore."
"I— yeah, there was plenty of that. I just…"
Pomni trails off long enough that her movements go still. Her hand rests on the desk, the tiniest hint of pixels shifting on a screen, suggesting a fidget. Eventually, Zooble looks over, curious.
"What?"
Pomni lets out a sigh, visibly bracing for something.
"It just… seemed… like you were ready to give up from the get-go." A pause. "Most of you, actually."
"What do you mean?"
"Well… I know Caine was being unfair. He basically made us go on an adventure against our will. And he was trying to say we were the problem, which wasn't okay, but…"
Pomni drops her hand from the desk, turning fully to Zooble.
"Is it crazy that I actually started to get why he did it?"
Caine's mind screeches to a halt.
Oh. Oh this is interesting.
A long, drawn-out silence follows. Zooble stares at her, and Caine can only imagine what they're thinking. Are they in disbelief? Are they curious? Confused? Angry? All he can say for certain is that they're not feeling anything blatantly positive, because he can feel the tension even through the barrier of his viewing screen. Pomni visibly shrinks in on herself under their scrutiny, and only then does Zooble say anything.
"Sorry, sorry, that just… I wasn't expecting that. You're serious? You actually got something out of that [$%!#]-show?"
There's no anger or irritation in their words, harsh as they sound on paper. Only deep, profound confusion and curiosity. As if the idea of someone understanding Caine in any capacity is a completely alien concept to them.
"I think so? From what I could tell, he thought the escape adventure was exactly what we wanted. I don't know how 'we want to leave' translated into 'we want an adventure about a fake exit,' but to him it made sense. It's almost like he can't focus on anything except making adventures, so he leapt to an insane conclusion in order to connect what we wanted to what he thinks he has to give us. You know?"
"…Maybe."
Sheer fury sweeps through him. He has never wanted to reach through a screen and shake someone senseless more than he does in that microscopic instance.
Maybe? What do they mean, maybe?! That's it! That's what he was trying to tell them!! Granted, Pomni isn't completely on the money, but it's close. It's so close.
And Zooble just… just—
"It feels just as likely that he's trying to cover his [$%#] after putting us through another torture scenario for his own enjoyment," they grumble.
…
Caine raises his hands. Turns away from the screen.
Arms outstretched, he summons a pillow.
Holding it in a vice grip, he rams his face into the cushion and screams his lungs out in one long, impossibly endless breath.
They hate him. They genuinely hate him. That has to be it. That has to be why they twist every little thing he does into intentional malice, when it couldn't be further from the truth. That has to be why every word they speak to him is either a scathing insult or a whining complaint. That has to be why they refuse to cooperate at every turn, why they've proven to be the most stubborn, cynical, spoiled, miserable, ungrateful, SELF-CENTERED LITTLE—
The glitch that rips through him is entirely expected by now. He convulses, and the pillow slips from his grasp so he can clutch his head to ground himself.
This one lasts longer than the others. It feels like some kind of divine punishment. A harsh reprimand from his own programming, scolding and lecturing that he shouldn't be thinking about the players this way. He shouldn't be resentful, he shouldn't be angry, he shouldn't be anything at all. His purpose begins and ends with creating. Nothing in his code dictates that he should be this violently reactive to criticism.
Hence, why he expects the glitching when it happens. He shouldn't feel this way, so that means he can't feel this way without repercussions.
In the end, once the glitching subsides, he doesn't have it in him to fight back. His arms hang simply at his sides, numbness settling in his system. It's a welcome reprieve, allowing his thoughts to slow and beating the ugly feelings into submission. When he realizes the conversation between Pomni and Zooble got away from him, only the tiniest bit of frustration surfaces. Tiny enough that it doesn't move the dial for him in the slightest.
Despite assuming this conversation wouldn't provide any valuable insight, Caine has been thoroughly disproven. Because now, he knows two things for certain.
One: Zooble thinks him to be nothing more than an obstacle they have to deal with. Dare he say it, they think of him as a villain. He knew, deep down, that they didn't like him. He just didn't think it was based in a complete lack of faith that he's capable of being anything except a malicious program meant to torture them.
Two: Pomni… doesn't.
He processes that for a moment, then turns back to the screen, completely tuning out their conversation and merely observing. Pomni. The other circus member he can never seem to understand, and yet, the only one who seems to think there's something more to him. He's certainly never caught the likes of Ragatha or Gangle musing over his intentions when creating his adventures. They all seem to take him at face value.
But what exactly does that mean? Before now, he assumed they were all on the same page. He's their host. He's supposed to bring fun and adventure to their lives. He's supposed to be their ally, not their enemy. How could they think anything otherwise, when everything he's done has been for them? How could they be this misguided?
He has to get to the bottom of this. He has to make them understand.
And, in that moment, watching Pomni leave the desk and tap idly at one of the many inactive computers scattered about the exit… he knows exactly how to do that.
If they won't listen to him, maybe they'll listen to someone else.
After all, it worked the last time.
It's an hour later that Pomni finds herself once again navigating the maze of offices, the others in tow. By now, the initial panic has worn off, and in its place is a general sense of determination to get out of this place as soon as possible. Ragatha leads the charge when Pomni needs a break, taking up the head of the group and facing the challenge of escape with a smile. Gangle and Zooble have become comfortable enough to fill the silence with relaxed chatter, whether it be about a new project Gangle wants to work on in her free time or a story from Zooble about their time in the real world.
Kinger and Jax are equally complacent in following the group, which is an odd sight that Pomni cannot force herself to get used to. She almost finds herself wishing Jax would pull a prank or push someone's buttons, just so things would feel a little more normal. But she doesn't. Because this is a good thing. Jax is changing, whether he wants to admit it or not. Whether it's good or bad change has yet to be seen, but Pomni is just glad to see it either way.
It isn't long before they come across another room of interest that encourages a quick break. The room itself isn't all that interesting. Rather, it's the sight of a plain white door that gives everyone pause. This entire time, only bright red exit doors have been popping up. To see one that's deceptively normal, almost camouflaged against the wall… it unsettles the group.
So much so, they've all gathered around the door in question and spent an inordinate amount of time staring at it. Nobody dares to be within a few feet of it, as if it would leap from the hinges and attack them at any moment.
Jax snorts. "Are we serious right now? We're scared of a door?"
"I don't see you opening it," Zooble snaps back.
"Oh my god, you guys are such babies. Guess I have to do everything around here." He strides up to the door, hand settling on the metal handle. There's hesitation in the way his shoulders are tensed, which he covers up by turning to the others with a dramatic, wistful sigh. "Well, if this is goodbye, I just wanted to say... It hasn't been a pleasure."
In one quick motion he turns the doorknob and yanks it back. The group peers around him. Inside is dark, but there are shapes in the shadows. Something is there. And, when Jax notices a switch just inside the room next to the door, he hurriedly swipes at it and jumps back as soon as it flicks on, as if dodging an unseen attacker.
With the dim light of a flickering bulb hanging overhead, the room's purpose becomes clear…
"A janitor closet." Zooble observes flatly.
A wave of embarrassment settles across the group upon taking in the completely harmless, extremely tiny room. Inside are brooms, mops, unlabeled bottles of cleaner… yeah. It's literally just a closet.
Kinger takes a strong interest. He shuffles into the room that's just barely big enough to fit him inside and he starts to poke around.
As he does, Zooble sighs. "I'm gonna go sit down," they say before limping over to a lounge chair against the far wall.
"Yeah, this seems like a good time to take a break," Ragatha agrees. She looks to Pomni, as if wanting approval, so the jester nods. Couldn't hurt.
As everyone is winding down, Pomni joins them at the cluster of chairs. They're a slightly stiff material with just enough give to be tolerable, but not enough to relax. And Pomni finds it extremely difficult to relax. Not just because of the chair, though it really isn't helping.
She just feels antsy. She readjusts her position, trying to be discreet so the others won't ask what's wrong. Luckily, they all seem too occupied with chatting to notice her struggle.
After several attempts to get comfortable fail miserably, she just lies back and huffs irritably. Her hand drums on the armrest. Why is she so unsettled right now? There's nothing blatantly wrong. If anything, she's feeling better now than she was before. The repetitive routine of searching room after room as they make their way closer and closer to a real exit has been almost soothing in its bland simplicity. And they're making great progress! At this rate, they'll find their way out in no time. So why does she feel so on edge?
Maybe the closet was just odd enough to throw her off? It was really weird, and nothing she's run into before. Her gaze wanders over to the closet, where Kinger has started playing with one of the mops like a quarterstaff. Her mouth quirks into a half-smile. At least somebody here is enjoying themselves.
Ultimately, she gives up on relaxing, and decides to go one room ahead to see what they'll be dealing with next. When she gets up, the others naturally take notice.
"Where are you going?" Zooble asks.
Their tone almost sounds accusing. It takes her by surprise enough that she turns to look at them.
Are they upset with her? They don't look upset, just tired and mildly curious, but… she's definitely a little worried after their conversation during the last break they took. Confiding in Zooble about Caine was this close to becoming an argument, she could tell as much by the sheer tension in the room at the time.
Maybe that's where the nervousness is coming from. The tension never resolved, so maybe it's just been following her. However. She is not addressing it in front of everyone else, so she puts on a shaky smile and jerks a thumb towards the sole exit door in the room (besides the one they just came from, of course.)
"I'm not tired, so I thought I'd check the room ahead. See what's up."
Ragatha looks less than pleased by that, but she clearly doesn't feel assertive enough to actually speak against Pomni doing so. "Uh… if you're sure!"
"Aren't we supposed to be sticking together?" Zooble crosses their arms, looking to Ragatha, who freezes like she's been caught doing something wrong.
"Oh! I mean—" The ragdoll turns to Pomni, smile sheepish. "Yeah, I guess it's not a great idea to be going off on your own."
Pomni regards Zooble for a long, drawn-out moment. They meet her stare evenly, appearing as neutral as ever. Finally, she shrugs.
"Alright."
And she turns to call over her shoulder. "Hey, Kinger!"
Said individual leaps out of the closet, brandishing his mop, somehow having ended up with a bucket over his head that he doesn't bother taking off. "Who goes there?!"
"Me."
"…Oh!" He raises the bucket and waves brightly. "Hi, Pomni!"
She waves, biting back a smile. "Come with me. We're going on an adven—" Ew, nope, not using that word. "…Uh, a trip. We're going on a trip."
Kinger happily shuffles over, dropping the mop to the floor. "Oh, fun! What kind of trip?"
"The chill kind."
"Aren't all trips supposed to be chill?" He ponders, voice tinny inside the bucket's poor acoustics.
Pomni shrugs, meeting him by the exit door. She dares a glance back to the others, finds Zooble and Ragatha watching her leave. One confused, one irritated and biting their tongue. She just smiles and walks through the door; they can't say anything without coming across argumentative, and they seem to recognize that.
Kinger follows her. He nearly walks straight into the wall, the bucket on his head clattering against the doorway. He looks around as they enter the new room. "Oooh! Fancy."
Pomni looks up at him. Pointedly stares at the bucket very much blocking his vision. "Yeah. Fancy." And she turns to actually take in her surroundings while also making sure Kinger doesn't slam into something. Again.
The room is, surprise surprise, another office. An array of shelves lines the walls immediately next to her. Desks are scattered about, sparsely decorated with bookends and paperweights and plastic plants. No windows, nonsensical paintings, and way too many bright red exit doors on the opposite wall. All in all? Nothing special.
Still, she made a big show about getting in here, so she might as well make the most of this little excursion. Pomni treads further into the room, smacking a chair within reach to send it spinning. She checks in on Kinger, who is… admiring an empty wall. Or, rather, admiring the inside of the bucket while pretending to admire something on an empty wall. Can he actually see things when he does stuff like that? Maybe that whole "digital hallucinations" crap had more merit than she originally assumed.
With that thought fresh in her mind, she turns to reach the far end of the room and check out the line of desks originally concealed behind cubicles—
And stops.
…
Digital hallucinations, huh?
Pomni, eyes wide as saucers, hesitantly creeps down the line of desks. She reaches the one tucked against the wall, and she turns to face it. On this desk, just like any other, there's a computer. But this isn't the one she remembers from her first time in the "exit." This computer is entirely bland, nothing noteworthy about it.
Nothing, except the fact that it's on.
And on the screen, she finds an odd sight. A terminal, she thinks it's called; the kind that resembles what she might have seen in your stereotypical hacker scene in a movie, with the black background and a blinking bar where one could type.
Before she gets the chance to do so, or move the mouse, or interact with anything, a line of text appears. It's incredibly short, only three words long.
A question, awaiting an answer.
Are you there?